


Endings and Beginnings

by YvonnePersonne



Category: Vis a Vis | Locked In (Spain TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, F/F, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Idk this is softer than I usually do but there's always a first right, Slow Burn, Smut, Zulema doesn't die because fuck you, oops this turned filthy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-28
Updated: 2020-12-18
Packaged: 2021-03-08 23:28:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 13,989
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27245014
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/YvonnePersonne/pseuds/YvonnePersonne
Summary: Zulema swallows and takes another shaky breath. Standing right in front of Macarena, she takes a deep breath and shakes off any remaining nerves."Hola, Rubia."Macarena's gaze snaps up, her face as white as a sheet."No." She says, barely audible."Si." Zulema answers, with a nod.
Relationships: Macarena Ferreiro/Zulema Zahir
Comments: 57
Kudos: 198





	1. Reunions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After 4 months of living under the assumption that Macarena's partner died alone, in the middle of a desert, her life throws her a curveball.

It's been four months and fifteen days since Zulema- Macarena cut her own thoughts off. 

It's been four months and fifteen days since Macarena left Zulema behind. She knows what the real answer is, but saying or thinking it feels too real, so instead, she refuses to acknowledge it fully, nor the feelings following it.

Silent tears had trickled down her cheeks the whole way on the helicopter, and every second stung more and more as she got further and further away from the body she had seen so far down below. 

She kept repeating to herself that Zulema had somehow managed to get away, that she had had a bulletproof vest on, anything really, she was clever, right? But then the image of her lifeless body laying on the desert ground would float back up to her mind, leaving her empty, reliving the shock as if she was finding out about it for the first time again.

For days she was in denial about how much it affected her. Then one day she was buying groceries, and the store played one of the songs that she had on during new year's. She ran out of the store, panicked, but then shamefully had to go back later since she still needed food.

For weeks she anticipated the dark-haired woman to show up at her new apartment. 

At first, she expected to see her bruised, hurt, yet healing. 

Then later, she expected her to turn up in the same way she did when she had first come to meet Macarena after leaving prison. 

Solid, collected, and calculating in that way only Zulema was. 

For months she saw her in corners, in crowds, sitting next to her. Heard her smooth, deep voice and laugh, and the way she'd call her that affectionate-turned nickname. She was everywhere. And every time Macarena realized that she actually  _ wasn't _ there, she always got as disappointed as the time it had happened before.

And now she went over all their interactions with a fine-tooth comb. 

Every time she noticed something that the other woman had tried to tell her that she hadn't understood before, another wave of pain would wash over her. 

The one that always stung like an open wound when she remembered it, and the way Zulema's voice sounded drenched in vulnerability, was when Zulema told her how their time together was the closest thing she'd ever had to a home.

_ "There's no reason to continue running if you have a home." _

Zulema had told her she, Macarena, was her home, and in the process asked her why Macarena wanted to run and make a new home by herself when there already was one available. And of course, all Macarena had answered with ' _ It was special for me, too _ ', instead of ' _ I know, but I'm still scared after what you did _ ', or ' _ I want to trust you, show me I can _ ', or, ' _ But would you accept me, and this baby as your family without suffocating from boredom? _ '. Again,  _ anything  _ really.

Although, the most painful thing about losing Zulema wasn't the smell of her smoke, the bite of her words and the rare but oh-so valuable smile that Macarena was sure only she had seen.

It was all the ingrained habits Macarena had as a result of living with the woman for two years. Zulema was always the first person to know her actual thoughts when she'd otherwise put a mask up around anyone else. When something pissed her off, she often went over it so that she could vent to Zulema after, even if she knew that the dark-haired woman didn't care. They understood each other, no matter how much they hated it. 

It was trapping and freeing at the same time.

Obviously, we all crave mutual understanding, but when that understanding comes from someone you should, by all means, hate, things get complicated.

What Macarena hadn't noticed before however, was that it was better to live with someone you hated, that was infuriating and annoying, yet someone who had seen and accepted all of your sides, than not having  _ anyone _ .

She just  _ had  _ to notice so much she wishes she'd seen before.

She had tried therapy, but every time she tried to open up about Zulema, her throat would close, and everything would be just  _ pain _ . 

Sometimes, it felt so suffocating that it would hurt physically. 

Chest constricting along with her throat, the stinging behind her eyes feeling like poison. But that was only when the guilt almost swallowed her whole.

For hours she'd spend finding reasons why it was her fault, even if she knew it was Zulema's choice. But then she could only think about  _ why _ . 

It would float around her mind until she came up with an answer, but the answer she always came up with only scared her more.

On good days, she wouldn't feel anything, and that's how it's been going most of the time for maybe two weeks and a half now. 

Macarena ended up wealthier than expected, as she found double the amount of what she should've gotten when she got to Morocco. 

Realizing who it was from and the fact that it had been decided beforehand only made her breakdown harder.

She hadn't done anything with it. She just bought a shitty flat and found a shitty job, if only to distract her mind and for her to have something to do during the days. Technically, she didn't need to work a single day for the rest of her life, but it felt wrong to spend money and celebrate the heist when she didn't have anyone to do so with. 

She hadn't gone to the funeral, but Saray had visited her once, and she can't say it went well.

They'd never been the best of friends, and Saray had barely had any contact with Zulema the previous years, nor did she know how well Macarena and Zulema got on during those two years. 

However, when Saray had seen the shell of what used to be a stubborn spirit, she understood that perhaps things were deeper between them than expected. She hadn't commented on it and had instead just drunk her tea in silence.

She had tried to convince herself that Macarena was fine until Saray had told Macarena that she was there for her and that Zulema would want her to move on. Saray had watched as the woman physically fought not to break down, forced a smile on her lips and bid her goodbye, closing the door as fast as possible.

So here she is, in an apartment she doesn't want, with a job she doesn't like and someone she shouldn't miss as much as she does. 

-

Beeps, low murmurs and shitty music is Macarena's life now. She has the night shift at the nearby grocery store. Yes, that grocery store. The one she ran out of whilst almost having a panic attack. There weren't any better jobs around that were as equally low-profile, so she stuck with it. Thankfully, she has managed to make sure that they wouldn't play that darn song again. However, in the process of trying to explain why it had such an effect on her, she had managed to hurt herself more. She had said how it was her and her late wife's song, and then almost slapped herself with how accurate it was. She could've said husband or friend or anything else to not make it  _ as _ on the nose. But no. 

At least her coworkers now knew why she was always moping around. 

-

Zulema has been watching Macarena for just a few days now. She scoffed when she realized Macarena had started working at a grocery store. What was it with her and choosing the worst jobs available? 

When she had first seen her, there was nothing more she wanted to do than go to her and embrace her after the hell Zulema had endured, but that was so ridiculously out of character for her that it scared her off and she promptly left. 

The second time she'd fully noticed how big Macarena's belly had gotten, and it filled her with a bunch of mixed feelings. 

She wasn't even sure if Macarena wanted her to be alive and to come back, or if she should move to the other side of the continent and hope she'd never see her again.

Zulema should by all means be dead right now, but there were complications. She was saved and then held hostage for multiple months, a time she preferred to never think about again. 

Ramala wasn't satisfied with only killing Zulema, and instead wanted to catch Macarena, kill Macarena in front of her and  _ then  _ he'd kill her. 

Most of the time she'd been half-delirious from pain, coming from both sore, but treated, gun wounds in her whole body and her rapidly worsening tumour. She had no idea how many times she hallucinated Macarena coming back for her. Eventually, it got old, and instead she'd torture herself over how weak she'd become because of the other woman. 

Despite this, a proud pang had still shot through her when she had overheard that her blonde was nowhere to be found. 

Zulema had escaped by learning the shifts, breaking her thumb to get out of the restraints, then shooting up most of the place before stealing a car. She was still in slight shock about how she managed to do it, but clearly, they didn't realize how far Zulema would willingly go to have her freedom back.

Part of her wished she'd just wait it out and let herself die. She was tired, but no matter how bone tired she was she wouldn't let herself rot away in the hands of some asshole. So, the first thing she did was find a private and secluded hospital where she practically forced the doctors to do everything they could to remove the tumour. 

The tumour wasn't as infested as they had assumed at first, but the operation wasn't perfect either. 

The doctor's technique was mostly just hoping for the best. 

She'd been in a lot of pain, hallucinated, her motor skills were all over the place and for a short while she could barely remember anything. 

Things had started to clear after a little while as her brain started to repair itself. She still needed to do checkups, but her condition was way better than it had been just a few months ago. 

Now Zulema feels as if she is floating between some strange kind of middle-ground between dead and alive, free and trapped. 

She isn't sure what to do now. She doesn't know whether to approach the blonde or run the other way, whether she wants to settle down or continue doing heists, doesn't know if she should go back to the trailer or rent an apartment. 

Well, that last one was already decided, but that didn't mean she knew if she  _ wanted  _ to go back to the trailer or not. It felt sacred now, like something that can't be touched or the illusion would break like glass.

So she spent her days following the blonde, wondering if she should approach her or not, and if she did, when would be the best time for the blonde.

What had shocked her most about seeing Macarena, wasn't her belly, or what she worked as or the sound of her voice, but rather how different she seemed. 

Even back in their prison days, she never gave up. She was stubborn, and Zulema had never seen her just sag together and give up. 

It just added to the reasons for why Zulema wasn't sure when to approach.

One time she had sat outside Macarenas apartment and listened as broken sobs came just from the other side of the door. Head resting on the dark wood, her whole body would ache to open the door and hold the woman on the other side. She was scared, though. She didn't know how the blonde would react to finding out she's alive, and that really scared her. 

Before, she would've expected Macarena to get angry at her, maybe throw something her way whilst screaming ' _ how dare you _ ', until she'd be relieved and they'd both laugh. 

But now, she's walking on unwalked roads.

-

Zulema walks into the grocery store where she knows Macarena will be. She can't leave without the other woman seeing her, so there is no going back now. She's made sure that they're alone, so if things go wrong Macarena can still keep her job. She stands behind a shelf, watching as the woman almost dozes off behind the register, and with a shaky breath, she grabs a pack of cigarettes. 

Each step feels heavier than the last, but it doesn't take long until she's standing by the conveyor belt, way closer to Macarena than she's been in months. 

Putting the pack of cigarettes on the conveyor belt, Macarena activates it and punches in the cost without even looking up. Zulema swallows and takes a shaky breath. Standing right in front of Macarena, she takes a deep, final breath to shake off any remaining nerves.

" _ Hola, Rubia _ ."

Macarena's gaze snaps up, her face as white as a sheet. 

" _ No _ ." She says, barely audible.

" _ Si _ ." Zulema answers, with a nod.

Macarena stands up abruptly from her chair, grabs her bag from the ground and then leaves.

Well, that wasn't the reaction she expected. 


	2. Sleeping habits

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Zulema comes back, seemingly having been revived from the dead, it takes some time for the two women to get used to each other again.

Zulema silently follows Macarena all the way to her flat. Macarena unlocks the door and just leaves it open, finding the nearest chair and slumping down on it. Zulema closes the door with a quiet  _ click  _ and stands in the hallway, not sure what to do. 

If she were anyone else, she thinks the right thing would be to go and hug the blonde, but she would never really do that, so she just stays where she is. 

Like someone nearing a nervous, hurt animal, she carefully steps closer to the blonde currently sitting on one of the rickety chairs by the table in the bare kitchen, hands on her eyes, breathing raggedly. Macarena sits there for multiple minutes, the occasional broken sob the only thing audible in the apartment.

"I mourned you," Macarena takes an uneven breath in, trying to steady her wavering voice, "for  _ months _ ."

"I know."

"I found a  _ million  _ reasons to hate myself-" Her voice fades at the end, and then she splutters, "to hate you!" She bursts out, briefly removing her hands from her eyes, before hiding them from view again. "But I just-" She scoffs and swallows her words with a shake of her head.

"I know, Macarena." 

That word makes Macarena finally remove her hands from her bloodshot eyes. Zulema never called her by her name, it was  _ always Rubia  _ or  _ Maca _ .

Looking into the raven-haired woman's eyes, she can tell the older woman is just as conflicted and lost as Macarena is. 

Seeing someone she's always viewed as solid as a rock lost, only makes Macarena feel worse. Otherwise, Zulema was someone she could cling onto when she didn't know what to do. Yet, there was something oddly comforting about being equally lost together. 

Together. 

Macarena winces at the word that echoes through her mind, but not having any more tears left to cry, she takes a deep breath and sighs. The number of emotions that had washed over her before, disbelief, fear for her sanity, then relief and confusion, had left her exhausted. 

She wanted answers to a million questions, but unlike before, now she knew she could get an answer to them. Just not right now. Now she wanted to bury her feelings and face in a blanket until she felt nothing except the warmth from it, and the edges of consciousness turning blurry and soft.

"I'm too tired for this, Zulema." Her name feels alien on her tongue, yet even something so simple as saying her name feels comforting, grounding. She glances at her, still in shock at seeing her face after so long. Well, technically a few months weren't super long, but Macarena swears these 4 months had been longer than any other in her life. 

She was glad that she hadn't changed much, it helped. The tattoo under her eye is as sharp as always, her hair still that deep black and eyes gleaming with that hint of mischievousness, even though she has an unusually solemn look on her face. She wanted to bury her face in those long tresses of raven coloured hair and inhale the familiar scent of smoke, but she knew that that wasn't an option with the older woman.

Zulema had noticed her wide-eyed staring, but didn't comment on it. It gave her an excuse to do the same, now that she knew that the blonde in front of her wasn't a hallucination. After a few seconds, she got amused by the way Macarena's eyes kept darting around as if she was mentally mapping every single detail of her face for the first time, and Zulema gave her a short chuckle and crooked smile.

"Miss me that much,  _ Rubita  _ ?"

" _ Si. _ " Macarena breathes out, shocking both herself and Zulema at her honesty. Any other time she would've scoffed and thrown a sarcastic comment at Zulema's face. But this wasn't any other time.

Zulema only chuckles again, then shook her head and sighs.

"What now?" 

"Now we sleep." Macarena says and Zulema scoffs.

Getting up from her chair, Zulema realizes that she is serious, and Zulema furrows her eyebrows in confusion.

"You don't have any questions?"

"I have a million questions, but Zulema," Macarena sighs for the nth time today, and gets up from the chair she had sat in, "I'm so tired right now." She says and shakes her head. 

Zulema purses her lips slightly, a habit Macarena noticed a long time ago.

" _ Vale _ ." 

Taking one last look at Zulema, Macarena leaves to get ready for sleep, and Zulema sits down on the hard sofa in Macarenas bare living room. The whole apartment was bare, which was unexpected as Macarena was the one that had convinced Zulma to get those Christmas lights and practically every other decoration they'd had in the caravan. 

It was as if she wasn't living, just merely existing because she still had a beating heart.

Leaning her head on the cushion behind her, she feels how tired she is as well. It didn't show as much on her as the blonde, but her emotions had been on a rollercoaster as well and having ignored her body's need for the most part since she got back, sleeping doesn't sound too bad. 

She hasn't slept well for more than four months, and it's as if she's feeling that for the first time just now. At first, she was bullet-riddled and delusional, then she was freshly operated on and was in even more pain, and then when she got an apartment, she was sleeping alone for the first time, well,  _ ever _ . Before, she had Hanbal, then she was in prison where privacy was next to impossible, and then she slept next to Macarena in the trailer. 

Her thoughts are interrupted as Macarena clears her throat.

"You can use the bathroom now." She mutters and then disappears into her bedroom.

-

Macarena lays down in her bed. A part of her had expected to walk back into the living room to see that the woman was gone, that she’d only been a figment of Macarena’s tired mind. But she’d sat there, gaze fixed on the white ceiling above her.

Macarena tosses and turns in her bed, waiting for her body and mind to get so exhausted that she physically can't keep her eyes open. It was the only way she could ever sleep these days. 

Something she has noticed is how her insomnia  _ started  _ when Zulema wasn't around. She would've expected it to be the opposite, but it was as if her brain thought that if she slept near the most dangerous person she knew, she'd be safe. Zulema had had so many different opportunities to kill Macarena but had on multiple occasions protected and saved her instead. This idea intensified after Zulema saved her from the washing machine. 

She still has faint memories of a panicked voice screaming her name, a presence hovering over her and a mouth on her own. 

She still didn't know if she had imagined the whole thing, and it was practically impossible to pose the question to Zulema. She'd ask her tomorrow. She would ask her a lot of things tomorrow, things she would have otherwise been too afraid to ask that she now realized was scarier to never get an answer to.

She tosses and turns in her bed, the space feeling too big, still used to either having a body lying right next to her or the small cramped bed in prison. 

Sighing, she knew what she had to do if she wanted to sleep at all that night.

Macarena guesses she won't only be asking things she normally wouldn't tomorrow, but also today. Swallowing her dignity she throws her covers off of her body and tiptoes out to the living room.

"Zulema?" She whispers, hearing a low grunt coming from the sofa. 

Macarena apparently takes too long when trying to figure out what to say, as Zulema sits up on the couch and looks at her questioningly.

" _ Que? _ " Vocalizing her previously silent question.

"I can't sleep." Macarena says and bites her lip. Another silent question is posed from her raven-haired counterpart. _ 'And what does that have to do with me?' _ .

"Before I ask you this, don't you dare judge me." Macarena points a scolding finger at Zulema, who only shrugs.

"You know I can't promise anything,  _ Rubita  _ ." She says, and Macarena wants to be annoyed, but the comment only cements the fact that Zulema really is sitting there being her annoying self and isn't laying six feet underground. 

Shaking her head and chewing on her bottom lip again, she gathers courage.

"I can't sleep because I'm used to you sleeping with, or near, me." She says hastily, throwing the words out of her mouth.

Zulema stares at her until she suddenly chuckles, and stands up.

"You're asking me if I can come and sleep in your bed?" Zulema asks with a small smirk.

Taking a deep breath in, she answers.

" _ Si. _ " Macarena she says through gritted teeth, more embarrassed than she expected she'd be.

For a moment they just stand there looking at each other, until Zulema walks right past her into her bedroom.

Fighting off a smile, Macarena turns and joins her to see Zulema throwing herself into her soft bed. Macarenas scent instantly hits Zulema’s nose and it almost startles her how much it comforts her, but thankfully the blonde doesn't seem to notice in the dark of the night. Macarena lays down carefully next to her, as if a single wrong movement would scare away the woman next to her.

Zulema notices her stiffness and laughs a low laugh.

"I don't bite,  _ Rubia,  _ " Zulema says and turns on her head to look at Macarenas profile. "you should know that by now. Or well," She purses her lips, "I don't bite unless you want to, which you should  _ also  _ know by now." She says and chuckles again, making some unwanted memories resurface in the blonde's mind.

Macarena runs a hand over her face, muffling the next words she says.

" _ Joder Zulema _ , I regret this already." 

" _ Que?  _ Can you repeat that?" Zulema asks and grabs the hand still on Macarena's face, pinning it next to her head, hovering over the blonde.

The switch in mood is sudden, making Macarena's breath hitch. Black hair falls on the pillow under Macarena's head and frames the sides of her face like dark curtains. Instinct takes over and with her free hand, Macarena buries her fingers deep in the locks at the back of Zulema's neck, making the older woman's eyes widen slightly. 

Macarena's gaze jumps from Zulema's eyes and mouth, but instead of leaning in, she pushes the woman on her back and buries her face in the crook of her neck, so that she's practically laying on top of her.

" _ Que coño h- _ " Zulema protests, but Macarena cuts her off.

"Shhh, _ dormir,  _ Zulema." 

For a moment Macarena thinks Zulema is going to push her, but then she feels an unsure hand sneak its way under and around her waist, and the other coming to the small of her back, making her relax and sink deeper into familiar skin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah, geez this is chapter is so soft. Hope y'all like it, I sure did when writing it. However, I must say it is difficult to keep such a violent and angrily bickering duo soft AND in character at the same time.


	3. Domestic Bliss

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Having spent time apart, their relationship is rocky, especially considering the fact that it has never remained particularly stable. But as always, then end up finding peace together, in their own way.

Zulema wakes up alone in a bed that she instantly recognizes isn't her own. It takes her a few seconds to remember where she is, but then everything comes back. 

_ Macarena _ . 

Zulema sits up hastily, only to be greeted by the woman leaning against the doorframe.

Zulema rubs the sleep out of her eyes to make sure Macarena isn't an illusion and then scrunches up her nose.

" _ Joder _ , were you watching me sleep? You're even more fucked up than I remember." Zulema says with a grunt as she stands up. Macarena only snorts, shakes her head and turns around, ignoring her question and comment.

"Do you want coffee?" Macarena calls out from the kitchen, and Zulema answers with another grunt. 

"Do you have a balcony?" Zulema asks as she comes into the kitchen.

" _ Por qué _ ?"

Zulema holds up the pack of cigarettes she just realized she didn't pay for last night. It's not as if she's stolen things before.

"Ah,  _ si _ ." Macarena says and gestures vaguely to the living room.

Somehow, Zulema hadn't even noticed the door to the balcony next to the couch last night, but at least there was one, so she didn't complain.

Stepping out and feeling the cool morning breeze instantly clears her thoughts, and she lights up a cigarette and takes a deep drag, breathing out the smoke. 

She knew Macarena craved her to be soft and gentle right now. But she Zulema  _ fucking  _ Zahir, and 'soft and gentle' is one of the last things she'd consider herself to be. She's murdered, stolen, assaulted and a  _ bunch  _ of other shit. 

Despite this, she'd try her best to not lash out at the blonde. It'd take a while for the blonde to fully wrap her head around the fact that Zulema is alive, and the older woman knew this. Sure, she acted as if it was fine, but Zulema could see her unusually wide eyes as if seeing a ghost, and she was more touchy-feely than she used to be. 

Last night things had started to get too mushy for Zulema, and she tried to switch back to the more familiar, and intense, energy that was usually around them instead of the new, strange and sweet one. She hadn't gotten very far, though, as the blonde only buried her fingers into her hair and looked at her with something akin to awe in her eyes. It had thrown Zulema off completely, which is why she ended up surrendering when the blonde put her arms around her and decided to fall asleep  _ on  _ her.

Zulema hears the door behind her open, but she doesn't greet Macarena and instead only takes another drag from her cigarette.

"Your coffee." Macarena mumbles behind her. Turning around, she sees Macarena holding two mugs. Putting out the lit cigarette on the railing, she grabs one and leans back.

Macarena stands next to her and takes a quiet sip of her coffee before sighing deeply.

"Zulema, I know you're not one to talk about difficult stuff, but I have to know  _ how  _ you're even here." In her mind, Macarena hears  _ if you're even here _ , but decides to leave it out. Realizing what kind of talk this will be, Zulema wishes she hadn't put out that cigarette. 

Using her coffee as a substitute, she takes a long sip.

"Long story short, Ramala captured me, and-"  _ tortured me _ , was what she was going to say, but the words didn't want to leave her mouth as flashes of warm metal and spikes came across her mind's eye. Skipping over that part, and ignoring Macarena's quizzical look, she continues. 

"-and tried to make me say where you were. He wanted us both dead but for one of us to see the other die so one of us could feel ' _ a fraction of his otherwise unkowable pain.'  _ " She says whilst making air quotation marks.

Zulema takes a deep breath, wishing again she could've taken a drag of her cigarette instead. The whole time Zulema had been talking she'd avoided making eye contact with Macarena, and Macarena could see how uncomfortable she'd been, forcing the words out of her mouth at a faster speed than usual. Macarena almost felt nauseated imagining what they did to make the strongest person she knew so uncomfortable when only giving the simplest recounting of what happened.

"I escaped,  _ obviously _ , then went to a hospital and got as much of treatment as I could, since my plan to go out with a bang had failed and I refuse to kill myself."

Macarena stares at the older woman's profile, waiting for her to turn her gaze, but when that doesn't happen she changes her hold on her cup so that she has one hand free, and takes a step closer to the older woman. Putting a hand to Zulema's cheek, she turns her face so that her gaze finally meets her own and then strokes her thumb over the thin black line under Zulema's eye. 

At first, Zulema seems to accept her comfort, but then she flinches away from her touch.

"Zulema," Macarena sighs, "I-"

"No." Zulema cuts her off and turns her whole body to Macarena, "No," She repeats, "I don't want your comfort."

"Why don't you just let me help you?" Macarena asks, growing more frustrated by the second at Zulema's usual resistance.

"Because that's how our relationship always has been," She almost spits out, "we are not  _ soft _ with each other."

Sighing, Macarena shakes her head.

"Things change, Zulema." She says, but Zulema just shakes her head. " _ I  _ have changed!" Macarena tries instead, voice getting higher along with her need for Zulema to understand why things can't stay the same between them.

"You  _ died _ ." She whispers.

" _ You sold me out _ , Rubia." Zulema hisses in her face. "I would have died anyway, had I not figured it out." Zulema counters, voice low, and the comment feels like a slap to Macarena's face. 

Taking Macarena's silence as an opportunity to escape, Zulema throws her coffee mug over the ledge of the balcony in a final angry burst of energy, and then leaves. Macarena hears it shattering down below and a few people shout angrily, but it means nothing to her. 

Macarena stays standing there after hearing her front door slam shut, slowly feeling her coffee turning cold in her hands. Looking down from her balcony, she sees the destroyed mug only a few levels down and realizes she feels just as lost as she did when she thought she had lost Zulema. The thought that she might lose her a second time, but this time only having herself to blame, fills her up with so much dread she wishes she was the shattered mug below.

-

Zulema is gone for multiple days, during which time Macarena manages to convince herself that Zulema, A) has left her forever, B) is hurt somewhere, C) has been recaptured by Ramala, and then finally, D) that she never came back and Macarena has finally lost her mind.

One day, in the middle of the day, Macarena walks into her kitchen and sees Zulema standing there, looking for something to eat from her fridge. Feeling Macarena's gaze on her, Zulema looks her way, and they share brief eye contact until Macarena, too fed up to care even though she cares  _ so  _ much, walks right past Zulema to grab a snack from the pantry and then leaves.

Macarena still has a fuck ton of questions, but seeing how the last time went, she feels a bit discouraged and decides that when Zulema feels ready she'll come to her. Hopefully.

The first day that she is back, Macarena doesn't dare ask her to join her in bed. So she decides to let the dozing Zulema be alone on the sofa, sparing her a glance as she walks into the bathroom and quietly makes herself ready. 

Sliding under her covers she waits for sleep to come and take her away, and just as she feels her mind slipping into unconsciousness, she feels the bed dip behind her and a warm body pressing up against her own.

-

The next day Macarena wakes up, and for a few seconds, she lives in domestic bliss, still feeling a warm body against her own. And then the morning sickness hits her and she has to scurry away to the bathroom. Bending over the toilet stool, she feels a hand softly brushing back her hair and a soothing hand on her back.

When she's finally done and relaxes, the hand holding her hair and rubbing her back quietly disappears and she's left alone in the bathroom to clean herself up.

She guesses that this is Zulema's way of apologizing. 

Leaving the bathroom she sees Zulema sitting on the couch, lazily watching TV.

"They said I should stop vomiting around week 16," Macarena says with a sigh as she sits down on the sofa, "I don't know when I should start to worry."

"There's nothing to worry about,  _ Rubia _ , some women get morning sickness well into the third trimester." Zulema says casually, making Macarena get mental whiplash, as the image of Zulema knowing things about pregnancy, much less being pregnant, feels like a total clash of how she sees the raven-haired woman. Staring hard at Zulema's stomach, she tries to conjure up the image of a young pregnant Zulema, but to no avail. Hearing a low chuckle startles her out of her mind, feeling caught.

"You look like you're constipated,  _ Rubia _ ." Zulema says, making Macarena snort.

"No, I was just... Thinking."

"I know." Zulema says, meeting her gaze. Macarena is surprised to see the gentleness in the dark-haired woman's eyes.

"I never planned to get pregnant. I was young, had just met Hanbal." Zulema mumbles, gaze fixed on the TV in front of her. For a while it's quiet, Macarena not sure if Zulema planned on saying anything more. 

"I wish I could've met her." Macarena eventually says quietly.

"Yeah," Zulema sighs, "me too."

Feeling bold, Macarena sits closer to Zulema and leans her head on her shoulder.

"I would've told her how much of an ass you are." Macarena says and Zulema chuckles.

"She would've loved you, Maca. Both of you teaming up to stand up against me."

Macarena only hums, not wanting to add anything that could cause potential harm.

She falls asleep like that even though she just woke up, head resting against Zulema's shoulder, dark hair blending into light. Her dreams take the appearance of an alternate universe where Fátima was with them, alongside a young baby girl.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am just,,, rolling forward with the fluff, huh. Well, y'all don't seem to be complaining so I'll just keep it going. Hope you liked this chapter, and if you have any feedback I'd love to hear it in the comments!


	4. Escalations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tensions of multiple kinds ramp up.

During the course of several days they quickly fall into a comfortable routine, presumably easier because of their previous shared time together. Macarena has her night shift and Zulema floats around… Doing whatever it is that she does. Then at night, Macarena always feels a warm body wrap itself around her right as she’s about to doze off.

Macarena has no idea where Zulema goes during the days and nights, but she seems to be alert, never fully disconnected from real life. 

Even when asleep, she wakes up easily and is quick to be back on her feet, in case something is wrong. Macarena has asked, only to get vague answers about ‘always having been like this’ even though Macarena knows that that isn’t the case, at least not since their prison days. However, she knows not to force it, so she lets the woman be.

Ever since the dark haired woman came back into her life, she hasn’t had much time alone. Or rather, much time alone where she  _ knew  _ the other woman would be away for a while. Often Macarena would try to take a moment for herself, only for the woman to suddenly show up with her all knowing eyes and ears. 

It wasn’t as if Macarena wasn’t thankful that Zulema was back,  _ God no _ , she just has  _ needs _ . Almost especially since the woman came back, her lingering gazes and touches igniting the flame that never actually died. 

She remembers shameful nights when she’d moan what she thought was a dead woman’s name, knuckle-deep inside of herself, until she’d come and eventually cry herself to sleep. 

Those needs keep getting bigger and stronger, and she is getting  _ desperate _ . 

So one day, or rather evening, when the woman is out, she decides that she’s had enough and can’t bring herself to care if the woman shows up mid-session, so to speak. 

-

Zulema sits and sips from a bronze coloured drink, the burn at the back of her throat familiar and comforting, the beats filling her ears feel like compressions to her chest, keeping her alive and her blood pumping. 

She’s been going out practically every day, but not to avoid the blonde, no. 

Ever since she came back she’s had a creeping feeling of being followed, so instead of staying in and turning the attraction currently on her to Macarena and her unborn child, Zulema stays out to do the same thing her watcher, or rather watches, are doing. Observe, and absorb. The first time she could feel someone's intense gaze on her was just a week ago. Back then it had been a woman, and she had tried to corner her and squeeze some information from her, but like a mouse, she’d slipped out of Zulema’s grip. 

She knew that getting too close could prove to be dangerous, but since nothing had happened so far, she decided that despite the warning signs it was worth finding out more about them rather than just let them watch her and Macarena. It  _ had  _ to be Ramala’s people gathering information. Zulema knew they’d eventually make a plan to capture them both, a smart move on Ramalas part, telling his hostage his plan as if her escaping hadn’t even crossed his mind. The only thing was that she just didn’t know  _ when _ they’d attack. 

The best thing would be to know around what time they’d strike, and then hit them hard when they wouldn’t expect it. 

Zulema could just take Macarena and then flee, but then they’d be running yet again, and the two of them knew how that went last time. No, that wouldn’t work. She’d have to adapt, and strategize.

Zulema can feel watchful eyes looking her way in the corner of her eye, but no matter how much she wants to, she doesn’t turn her head. She plays coy and unsuspecting, chats with the girl next to her, then pays for her drink and leaves to go to the bathroom. She wades through a sea of dancing people to get to the other side of the room, and then makes a sharp right. Quickly turning back and around to the room, she hopes that her follower is now in front of her rather than behind, and starts scanning for someone in the crowd doing the same as her. Everyone around her seemed to live in their own little bubble, gazes unfocused and movement uncoordinated, so an alert and panicking face would stick out like a sore thumb. That’s why when she spots a man in an otherwise unassuming jumper and brown jacket looking around frantically, she knows she’s hit the jackpot. 

_ Gotcha _ .

As he visibly calms down, accepting defeat, he stills, giving Zulema the opportunity to get closer. Creeping up behind him, she leans in slowly.

“Looking for someone?” She says into his ear, and right as he’s about to grab the gun from his holster and turn around, Zulema reaches in front and grabs it before him, cocks it and points it at his now half-way turned chest. Digging it into his ribs, she leans in again and bites his earlobe.

“I wouldn’t want to make any sudden movements if I were you.” Her voice cold in comparison to the breaths puffing at his ear.

“If you seem like you are anything but a drunk guy about to hook-up, I’ll shoot your puny balls off.”

Laughing into his ear as if he’d just said something funny, and slipping the hand with the gun into his jacket to hide it from view, she pulls him backwards in the direction of the exit.

“Put your hands around my waist, _ joder tonto _ .” She growls through her teeth, and like a good  _ perro  _ he does as he’s told.

They make their way through the crowds and outside into the cold air of the night, Zulema backing him into a nearby alley, immediately headbutting him. He tumbles to the ground and groans.

“ _ Hija de puta _ .” He whines and puts his hand to his gushing nose, but Zulema was having none of it. She grabs him by the collar and pins him up against the wall and shoves to gun back in between his ribs.

“ _ Hablar tonto, _ ” She grits through her teeth, as if she has to force herself  _ not  _ to rip his jugular out with them, “what's your plan?”

When the nervous man shakes his head and only whimpers, Zulema’s frustration grows, and she removes the gun from his ribs only to jab it in between his legs, making him grunt in pain.

“ _ Hablar! _ ”

“I’m just an informant, I don’t know!” He sobs. _ Fucking pathetic _ .

“If you’re an informant,” She begins in a mocking voice “then you should at least know what fucking information they have.” She snarls at the end, eyes wild.

He looks away from her and starts racking his brain.

“Erm- they just know that you’re in the area, and that Macarena is nearby, nothing more! I swear!” Snot and blood are running down his nose, making Zulema’s face scrunch up in disgust. Suddenly she finds herself in a dilemma. 

Either kill the man and let Ramala know she knows what they’re up to,  _ and  _ have a body to take care of, or, let the man go and force him to stay quiet. She can’t guarantee that he will, but it’s better than making sure that they’ll know. Then again, it  _ would  _ be really satisfying to blow his balls off.

Zulema groans and throws her head back, and she can feel how she’s aching for a cigarette. Looking back at the man, she decides, and leans in again.

“I hope for your own sake you don’t say a word about this friendly meeting to Ramala.” She whispers in his ear and locks her eyes onto his to make sure he understands, and he hastily nods.

“I promise, I promise, I’ll-” She cuts him off with yet another headbutt.

“ _ Cállate, joder, _ ” She releases him dramatically, and he falls to the ground, “ _ vamos, corre _ .” She says and the man instantly scurries off, not sparing a single glance back to the crazy woman concealed in the dark of the alley.

Putting the gun in the waistband of her pants, she shakes her head.

“Ugh,” She scrunches her nose and purses her lips,  _ pathetic _ , she thinks again. 

-

Zulema closes the door lightly behind her, not knowing if the blonde was home and sleeping. It was around the time when she’d soon wake up to leave for her night shift, not that Zulema had memorised her schedule or something. That’d be weird. Taking off her shoes and placing them on the shoe rack as the blonde had kept nagging her to do, _ it’s there for a reason,  _ Zulema almost hears and smiles slightly to herself, despite her lingering irritation at her encounter in the alley.

She’s about to take one step further into the apartment when she hears an unmistakable sound, and freezes.

“Mm… Zulema-” A gasp, and then a muffled moan, comes from the slightly open door at the back of the living room.

Zulema’s blood runs hot and cold, her previous frustration at the man from before instantly being replaced with another type of frustration.

Nearing the slim opening, the soft light coming from inside the only thing lighting up the living room, the moans get louder.

Zulema takes one last quiet step forward, finally getting a glimpse of the blonde, and she almost moans at the sight. Light hair splayed over white sheets, she was writhing on the bed, teasing herself. She bucks her hips, and Zulema is almost impressed considering the fact that the woman has extra weight on her belly.

For a moment she keeps watching as the younger woman pinches her nipple and whines, but then Zulema reaches out a hand and carefully nudges the door open, well aware of how the hinges are in desperate need of oiling. A quiet squeak is all the blonde needed to hear to be alerted of Zulema’s presence. Whipping her head to her left, she sees the raven haired staring at her with a gaze so intense she feels like it could tip her over the edge, but shock and embarrassment takes over and she quickly covers herself up. She sits up hastily,

“Zu-Zulema! I didn’t know when you’d be home.” Macarena says trying desperately to sound normal and flashes an unsure smile.

“You were thinking about me.” It wasn’t a question, but a statement. She’d heard how the blonde had moaned her name, and how she  _ ached  _ to make the younger woman make the sound again. 

Macarena freezes completely, knowing she has no way to escape the situation.

Suddenly the older woman takes slow steps into the room, and Macarena can’t get the image of a predator nearing its prey out of her head. For a moment she stands by the edge of the bed and Macrena holds her breath, waiting for something to happen. And then Zulema crawls onto the bed, and quickly positions herself so that she has her knees on both sides of Macarena’s splayed out legs, and hovers above her. Looking down at Macarena, her face completely blank, making Macarena’s heart beat so hard it feels like it’s going to burst out of her chest.

“Lay down.” Zulema says with a nudge of her head, and Macarena reluctantly lies down.

With a steadying breath, she commands, “Touch yourself.” Velvet voice sending shivers down the younger woman's back, and then the words fully hit Macarena and she feels her brain mentally lags. But then her pussy  _ throbs _ with pent up energy, so she doesn’t waste time trying to be rational.

Whilst keeping eye contact with the woman still hovering over her, she trails a hand down her body, letting the white sheet fall off. With one hand on her breast, and the other on her clit, she pinches on both, and the moan that comes out of her mouth is beyond sinful.

“ _ Joder, Maca _ …” She hears Zulema whisper, her eyelids hooded.

She lets Macarena work herself up into the writhing mess she was when she walked in, hips bucking, eyes closed in pleasure, when she yanks the blondes hands from between her legs and tit and pins them above her head. Macarena’s eyes open in both surprise and frustration, and is about to ask what the fuck Zulema’s doing, but the look in the raven haired’s eyes shuts her up.

Time seems to slow down and Macarena almost feels dizzy looking into those cryptic eyes, and- _ is that flecks of forest green in her deep, dark eyes? _

Macarena has been close up to the woman before, on  _ many  _ incidents, but never has the light her hit eyes like that and  _ fuck _ . Their intense look makes the hairs on her arms stand up, and then Zulema attacks her neck, sharp teeth and smooth tongue a sharp contrast, making Macarena buck her hips again.

“Zulema..” She says with a shaky breath, the throbbing between her legs making her desperate enough to beg if it means she’ll get release. 

“ _ Por favor _ , Zulema,” She begins, “ _ por favor, fóllame. _ ”

And the woman doesn’t waste time getting to work. With one hand still pinning Macarenas two, she drags a hand down Macarena’s side, fingernails digging into her skin. She squeezes her ass and then brings her hand forward to cup the blondes sex. Running one finger through slick heat, she chuckles in Macarena’s ear making her shiver again. 

If it were any other time she’d be embarrassed about being so affected by her older counterparts voice, but now she doesn’t give a single shit as it only adds to the flame that was her arousal.

“ _ Joder _ , you’re so wet.” 

Macarena groans in frustration, “ _ Zulema _ ,” She says, a warning, “I swear to-” but Macarena doesn’t have time to say what she wanted, as the sound gets stuck in her throat when Zulema instantly inserts two fingers.

Pulling one of her arms out of Zulema’s grip, she has to steady herself and grabs Zulema’s shoulder in a vice grip, nails digging into her hoodie. Zulema releases her other wrist and pinches Macarena’s hard nipple instead.

Macarena tries to hide her face in the nook of Zulema's neck, but the sharp and loud moan that comes out of her mouth still rings through the empty apartment. As the woman above her starts moving her fingers inside of her, her head falls back on her pillow in pure bliss.

Zulema pumps in and out of her at a punishing speed, and Macarena can’t help the noises coming out of her mouth, but she needs  _ more _ . One hand still on Zulema’s shoulder, she brings the other to her thigh and  _ grips _ , hoping the woman will get what she means. 

And sure enough, another finger slips in, and then she feels a thumb to her clit and she sees stars. Macarena brings both her arms around Zulema’s back, needing something to hold onto because then her orgasm hits her like a hard wave, and her entire body curls in on itself. Face returns to Zulema’s nook and then, one, two, three twitches, and her body unfolds like a butterfly and a long, loud moan comes through her mouth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hah, oops. Slip of the hand? Well well, I doubt any of you will complain about the sudden smut. Hope you like this chapter, trying to move forward the plot a bit, but don't want it to go all too fast.


	5. The day of realizing things

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Macarena finally sits down and gets at least a few answers to the many questions she has for the older woman.

_ When Zulema realized the Chinese had put Macarena in a washing machine, all of her senses zeroed in on the spinning of the machine and she just  _ knew _. _

_ She could feel her body move on it’s own accord, her brain feeling as if it's processing everything 3 seconds later, and when she pulls that cold, limp body out of the washing machine all she can feel is pure and utter disbelief. Because if Maca really is dead, what in the  _ hell  _ is she supposed to do with her life then.  _

_ It’s then that her brain stops lagging behind and everything hits her like a truck. She realises she will never see those dimples again, her surprising stubbornness, the gleam in her eyes when she knows she’s done something clever, and everything that makes Macarena, Macarena. _

_ She can’t tell when she started to try and get her back to life, but suddenly she’s desperately screaming at her to live, to not leave her behind. _

_ It feels like one of those nightmares, but instead of a monster chasing her and she can’t run, it’s the consequences of her actions and her care for the woman underneath her palms coming closer and closer to her mind.  _

_ She feels like she could stay here forever in an endless, nightmarish loop, doing chest compressions and occasionally begging the blonde to stay alive. Because she refuses to ever give up.  _

_ But then, as if some kind of miracle, the younger woman splutters and coughs up water, the liquid oozing through her mouth. But she doesn’t open her eyes, she doesn’t look at Zulema, and she doesn’t tell her some snarky comment about knowing how the woman always secretly cared. So whilst the panicky feeling stays, she also finds hope that the woman is alive, and the older woman scoops her up into her arms. Iit may be one of the dumber things she’s done, carrying Macarena out, bridal style, screaming for help so that her care for the younger woman is displayed for the entire prison to see. The Chinese stare at her in the corner of her eye when she runs out into the main area with her blonde in her arms, but she doesn’t care. _

_ All she can think about is the fact that she will never stop punishing herself if she let’s Macarena die today. _

-

All the stress of the past few days, Zulema’s arrival, constant work and the way Zulema has been acting distant lately, seems to finally subside as Macarena comes down from her high. She doesn’t want to acknowledge what this means for their relationship, at least not right now. Now she wants to take a moment to just soak in her bliss. So she holds onto Zulema’s back even after the last aftershocks have faded, and surprisingly, Zulema lets her. 

Not wanting to crush the belly between them, Zulema lays down on her side, Macarena’s face still hidden in the comfortable space between the older woman's neck and shoulder. Macarena contemplates taking a short nap before needing to go back to work, when she feels a careful hand on the side of her stomach. Opening her eyes and shifting slightly to look at Zulema, she sees her watch her belly with an almost reverent look on her face. 

Such a huge contrast to the hungry face she had seen when she walked into her room. 

“Have you chosen a name?” Zulema asks, voice almost a whisper.

“No,” Macarena answers, but then reconsiders, “maybe,  _ no lo sé. _ ” She’s had some vague thoughts, of course, but nothing concrete.

Zulema shifts her gaze from Macarena’s belly and looks deep into her eyes.

“I know…” Her lips twitch and she looks away, unsure of how to formulate her thoughts, 

“I understand if you didn’t want me near this child, considering…” Zulema trails off again. Macarena doesn’t say something, she knows better than to interrupt when Zulema tries to open up.

“But despite how annoying you are, and the fact that you sold me out, and have tried to kill me,” She lists off, a playful smile on her face to show that there are no hard feelings, “I want to stay in your life, Macarena.” She ends, face turning serious.

Macarena hadn’t even thought of her ever leaving. She was so used to living with the woman that when they yet again fell into routine with each other, she hadn’t given it twice a thought. 

“Me too.” She says, and buries her face into Zulema again.

A few minutes pass and Macarena is about to doze off, when a thought crosses her mind.

“How did you choose Fátima's name?” Macarena whispers, sound muffled by Zulema’s hoodie, but she knows she heard her.

Zulema sighs and shifts her head.

“I didn’t.” 

The confession turns Macarena slightly rigid, shocked, but she lets the woman continue.

“I wanted to name her Rosa.”

“Rosa…” Macarena whispers, and then relaxes in Zulema’s embrace again, “that’s a pretty name.” Macarena sighs, “Wake me when I need to go to work.” She mumbles, and then let’s sleep claim her body.

-

Macarena wakes up and for exactly five seconds she feels  _ amazing _ . 

_ Good sleep, good you-know-what and most importantly- oh my God, why the fuck is it bright outside. _

Macarena bolts up in her bed.

“Zulema!”

Suddenly the older woman runs into the room as if she’s ready to beat up whoever is bothering Macarena, but then she realizes that if she were to beat up whoever was bothering the younger woman, she’d have to beat up herself. 

“Why didn’t you wake me?” Macarena yells and is about to stand up when she remembers that she is, in fact, very naked. Last night hits and then she groans in frustration, not sure which problem to approach first.

Zulema looks amused at the distressed blonde, but decides to have some mercy on her as she goes to grab a few clothes from Macarena’s closet.

“ _ Tranquila, Rubia _ ,” She says and gives her the clothes, Macarena giving her a death stare, daring her to say the wrong thing, “I called your work and said you were sick.”

Macarena still looks annoyed but she’s at least relieved that she’ll keep her job.

“They did ask me who I was and why I was at your house, so I pretend to be your wife.” Zulema adds, looking a bit too self-satisfied, “Your boss said that he was glad you’d finally recovered from your previous late wife’s death?” And Macarena groans again.

“Zulema, if you open your mouth one more time-” But the raven-haired woman cuts her off,

“You’ll what? Shut me up?”

“Yes! If that’s what it takes!” Macarena says whilst throwing on the shirt she was given. Flipping her hair, Macarena stands up and puts on pants before walking right by Zulema.

“ _ Que _ ? Are you seriously angry at me right now?” Zulema asks, her previous amusement melting away and getting replaced by her own anger, and maybe a bit hurt, but she wouldn’t admit that.

“I give you the best orgasm  _ and  _ let you sleep in, and you’re angry with me.” 

Macarena whips her head around and points a finger at her.

“We are  _ not  _ talking about that right now.”

“And why are you the one to decide that? You call me a control freak but you’re just as bad.” Zulema counters, low voice a contrast to Maca’s loud one.

Macarena stares at her, a silent fury raging behind her eyes, even though she herself wasn’t entirely sure why. She has stayed home from work before, so it’s not like it’s a huge deal. 

Then it’s like she has an epiphany. She  _ wants  _ to be angry, or rather, she wants to  _ feel  _ something. This is one the rare times since Zulema came back that she’s properly felt anything, and before that all she felt was pain, or numbness.

Sighing, she tries to find a way to move forward where she won’t have to admit that her outburst was unnecessary.

“So you want to talk? Let’s talk.” Macarena says and walks to sit down on the sofa. Zulema seems caught off guard at the sudden shift in energy, but she sits down next to the blonde anyway, who looks at her expectantly.

It’s then that it hits Zulema that she’ll have to choose what to talk about and be the one to initiate this, and she points at herself with raised eyebrows before trying to find somewhere to start.

“ _ Bueno _ , last night… It’s not like it was the first time we fucked.” She begins and Macarena nods her head in agreement.

“We could just pretend it didn’t happen, but…” She clears her throat. The ‘but’ catches Macarena off guard.

“But?” She urges on.

“ _ No lo sé _ .” Zulema picks at her bottom lip and avoids Macarena’s gaze.

“You said you had other questions, Maca,” Zulema sighs, “I can answer those.” 

Meeting Macarena’s eyes, the younger woman looks at her for a while, gaze searching as if Zulema’s eyes could betray what she really wanted to say, but she can’t find anything concrete. 

“ _ Vale _ ,” Macarena sighs and runs a hand through her wild hair, “why did you save me from the Chinese? You never told me all those years ago.”

Zulema looks surprised that that’s the first thing that the blonde would want to know, not what she does out all day, or more details about what happened with Ramala after she left. Zulema feels the usual need to run away, bury all things sentimental, but she told the younger woman that she could answer her questions. And despite popular claim, Zulema was not cold-hearted, and it’d be a damn challenge to turn down those curious puppy-like eyes looking at her. 

So, she sighs in defeat and is about to start talking when the blonde interupts her.

“Because I have a faint memory of…” She takes a steadying breath, “Of your distressed voice calling out my name and begging me to live.” 

Zulema feels how her stomach sinks. Macarena wasn’t supposed to know that, much less remember it. She wasn’t herself that night, she was wild and desperate, like an animal. Something came over her and she just  _ realized  _ that… No matter how much she told herself that she despised the blonde, she was truly and utterly  _ alive  _ with her. 

They understood one another. They had caused each other so much pain that it brought them together, because only they could  _ possibly  _ know what the other had gone through. 

“I need you to tell me if that was just my half-drowned brain wishing that you cared or if it actually happened.” Macarena says and shakes her head, but by the look on the older woman's face, there were few doubts left in her mind. 

“I…” Zulema runs a hand through her hair and over her face. 

“ _ Sí _ .” She purses her lips, “It happened.”

“ _ Por qué? _ ” 

“Do you really need to ask me why?” Zulema feels her walls come up, even if she wants to scream at the blonde's face  _ how much _ she cares about her, she can’t.

Zulema looks at Macarena and then she kind of realizes that it doesn’t matter, the blonde already knows. 

_ She knows _ .

God, what a relief that is.

They sit there for a while, soaking in shared memories. Memories of pain, happiness, surprise, hope, defeat, the whole damn spectrum. 

She sees Macarena’s eyes suddenly flick from her eyes to her lips, and like a truck, Zulema has yet another realization. This one is much scarier than realizing that Macarena knows she cares.

The spell breaks as Zulema clears her throat, fingers twitching for a cigarette. She hadn’t even realized that the younger woman had started to lean in until she was shifting back to her previous position.

Her mind starts picking at loose threads, anything to fill the unbearable silence, but Macarena saves her.  _ How ironic _ .

“Where have you been going these past few days?” She asks, trying way too hard to sound normal to actually sound normal.

“You disappear for hours and never give me any clues, so if you know something I’d love to know.”

“Ramala is after us, and close.” 

Macarena looks at her with visible distress, memories of Zulema’s body laying in the yellow desert sand flick through her mind but she waves them away like fruit flies.

“ _ Qué _ ? H-How do you know?”

“I had a little encounter with a man who had been following me, and he wasn’t the first.”

Knowing Zulema, Macarena just has to ask, if only to ask  _ something _ , “Is he still alive?”

“Yes, he is.” Zulema shifts in her seat and sighs, clearly disappointed at her answer. Macarena breathes out a sigh, at least the police won’t knock down their door at any given moment. Ramala and all his men might though, and she isn’t sure what’s more desirable. 

“What do we do?” Macarena whispers. Zulema takes a steadying breath, she wants to stay strong for Macarena. She knows that the blonde relies on her, and she won’t let herself fail her one more time. She’s done so enough to last a lifetime.

“We can either run for the rest of our lives until he, or I, drop of old age,” The rare jab at herself to lighten Macarena’s mood seems to work slightly as the woman snorts before Zulema continues in a more solemn tone of voice,

“Or, you run, and I stay and take care of Ramala.”

This makes Macarena snap her previous unfocused gaze up.

“ _ Qué _ ?”

“You have a baby Maca, we aren’t just talking about you and me right now, you have to think about your and this child's future.”

Macarena shakes her head defiantly.

“ _ No _ . I refuse.”

“In a few weeks you will barely be able to walk, much less run and fight, and Ramala will use this knowledge to his advantage.” 

“I won’t leave you behind, not again.” Tears start to sting at Macarena’s eyes, the feeling all too familiar.

“Maca.” Zulema sighs.

“ _ Zule _ .” Macarena counters, and Zulema smiles faintly at the nickname.

It’s quiet again until Zulema can see Macarena realize something.

“If I can’t fight, all we need to do is get someone who can.”

Zulema clicks her tongue, “ _ Rubia _ , you and I both know how well that went last time.”

“Yes, but this isn’t a heist, this is  _ our  _ life.” Macarena puts a hand to her stomach, “ _ Her _ life.”

“I can’t raise this child on my own.”

“So find someone else, Fabio or something.” Zulema grimaces at the sound of his name, but she knows the man would never pass up the chance to make the blonde happy. Besides, Macarena was  _ safe  _ with him, and that was all that mattered.

“What if I don’t  _ want  _ someone else.” Macarena insists and shifts closer, “I’m tired of running from, and betraying, you.” She says and shakes her head. 

Zulema stays completely still as Macarena, for the second time since Zulema came back, puts a careful hand to her cheek and strokes her thumb over her tattoo. And this time, Zulema doesn’t shy away. Sucking in her teeth and clicking her tongue again, she admits defeat. Oh, how the blonde had made her weak.

“ _ Vale _ .” Macarena breathes a relieved breath, “I’ll think of something else.” Zulema mumbles, slightly ashamed how a few soft words and a caress made her walls crumble to the ground. Yet looking at the blonde and how her smile seems to glow she thinks that maybe, just maybe, it’s worth getting weak over.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, real-life storytime, I literally had a dream about that first flashback thing because I've always been let down that it wasn't talked about more. Like who found Zulema and coma-Maca and what Zulema was like just then, and the fact that Zule and Maca didn't have a proper talk about it, so I woke up at 4:30 am and was like "I can't NOT write something from my dream". So, here we are. Hope y'all liked it.


	6. A breath of fresh air

Zulema was away- had been away for a short while. She’d mumbled something vague about a checkup at the hospital to see how her brain was healing, before slamming the door, still uncomfortable at having to talk about her health with the blonde. 

They’d both agreed after their talk that they can’t go out alone as often the way they had before, and Macarena had paternity leave anyway, which means that the blonde had just about nothing to do.

Macarena had wanted to go with her if only to have peace of mind that if something happened to Zulema, she would at least know it even if she was also put in danger. But the brunette refused, saying that it was much better if only one of them got hurt, if only for her own peace of mind.

So now she was forced to stay alone with her thoughts.

After Zulema had- in her mind- died, she hadn’t found any hobby to occupy her mind, it was just work work work. Work all the time. She hadn’t  _ wanted  _ to either, because every time she found herself enjoying something, she felt as if she betrayed the woman she thought was still laying on the desert ground. As if any moment spent not grieving was a broken promise, and she had then realised that she finally understood why Zulema got that tattoo under her eye; it was a reminder of the promise she broke when her daughter died. 

Sometimes when she’s not staring into blank space, mind spinning about everything and anything, she washes clothes and listens to the hypnotic sound of the washing machine until it is done. Much like it had done before, it lulls her into a sense of security.

But most of the time, her mind wanders to a certain dark-haired woman. When she wasn’t pulling at her hair wondering when she’d come back, she’d catch herself daydreaming about what a life with Zulema and a baby girl would be like. 

At first, the image seemed absurd, but now when she knows it’s going to be real-life in a few months, she feels a strange mix of longing and anxiety. It’s not that she doesn’t trust Zulema, she just can’t forget what she did to her. The image of Zulema holding her baby was a bittersweet one, but Macarena knows she’d rather Zulema was in her and her currently unborn child's life than not. 

Macarena checks the clock on the wall.

15:45, Zulema had been gone for about an hour. She sighs and tears her gaze away. Not having anything to do, she lets her eyes lazily graze her surroundings. Everything looks the same, until her eyes land on a downturned book on the floor, under the sofa. 

It must be Zulema’s, and Macarena’s feet instantly travel towards it. With a grunt she bends down, belly making it more of a hardship than wanted, and grabs the book. 

Her hands stroke the leather encasing, and she notices it lacks any kind of text on both back and front. 

Macarena realises this could be something private, and that she probably shouldn’t open it, but her curiosity gets the better of her, as it always has. Sticking her nose where it doesn’t belong is part of her nature, apparently. 

She opens it with care, but not to the first page, but rather in the middle of it. 

The first thing she sees makes her take in a sharp breath of air, and her heart skips a beat.

It’s a polaroid photo of  _ her,  _ sleeping, golden light and locks spilling over her face. Underneath it is a messy scrawl of the dating, and Macarena’s mind gently reminds her that it was just a while before Macarena had announced she wanted to getaway. 

In the same scrawl next to it, it says “It never fails to surprise me the things I’ll miss after I’m gone after this  _ hija de puta _ of an alien growing in my head takes over completely. I think  _ another hija de puta _ has crawled into my brain, and I can't decide which one is worse.”

It surprises, and doesn’t surprise, Macarena how held back Zulema is with admitting things, even when she’s (supposedly) alone with her own thoughts. Yet, Macarena can tell that Zulema meant that she will miss her even when she’s gone, and something about that strikes itself in Macarena’s heart.

Sitting down on the sofa, she turns to page one.

-

Zulema grips the edges of the stretcher in the CT-scan. She’s never liked feeling trapped, even though she knows she’s perfectly safe inside of the machine. It’s over after maybe one and a half minutes but stuck with her own thoughts, it feels like forever. 

Before she’s even fully pulled back out of the machine she’s sitting up, wanting to be gone from this place as soon as possible. The nurse hums controlling the big machine gives her a once over, knowing who she was but wise enough to stay silent, and leaves. 

The door to her right opens and closes with a thud and the soothing dark from before gets replaced as she flicks the lights on. The stark lighting makes her feel exposed, the light way too reminiscent of strobe lights casting down on her from the police. She looks up to see her usual doctor entering the room, Doctor Bermudez, a guy maybe in his forties, scruffy grey stubble, tired eyes and faded tattoos up his arms.

“You know the drill by now, the results will be here in a few days. Do you have a way I can contact you, when necessary?”

She was lucky that day, when she came in like a crazy woman, demanding to get surgery. He was the first doctor who found her, and it didn’t take long for him to figure out who she was, 3 seconds, to be exact. The tattoo under her eye made her quite distinguishable. 

Newly woken up from her surgery, she asked him why he did surgery on her at all, and he told her that he had been in prison, that all the tattoos up his arm were for a crime he had committed in his youth. After that, every time when she woke up from another surgery or check-up, he’d tell her about another tattoo, and they’d formed a strange sort of bond through it. 

He figured that if he managed to turn his life around, maybe she could as well.

Zulema mumbles the number to her burner phone and stands up. 

He looks at her for a second longer than usual, and she quirks an eyebrow in question.

“I haven’t seen you on the news as of late,” He says with a smug, yet sincere smile on his face. A rare sight for the doctor.

Zulema scoffs, knowing what he was insinuating, that maybe she had finally settled down.

“I may have been taking it easier than usual, but trust me, I'm still the  _ puta  _ I was when we first met.”

“Of course you are, I didn’t doubt  _ that  _ for a second.” He says with a chuckle and pats her on the arm. He had fatherly vibes to him, even though Zulema was sure she was older than him. She supposed it didn’t matter though, he was wiser than she would ever be. Not smarter, but definitely wiser. He was wise enough to leave the life of crime behind when she found herself continuously pulled back to it. However, for the blonde’s and her baby’s sake, she might be forced to do so, anyway.

The thought of the blonde, and her pregnancy, made Zulema realise something.

Macarena was about as wanted as she was, which meant that they couldn’t just storm into whatever hospital that was closest when the time was right.

Zulema looks at Dr Bermudez, and this time it was his time to quirk his eyebrow in question.

“You don’t deliver babies, do you?” Zulema doesn’t quite realise what she’s asking until it has already left her mouth, and immediately silently wishes she hadn’t asked.

He huffs, surprised, “You’re not pregnant, are you?” He asks jokingly, but his gaze still flicks down to her stomach.

“No,  _ tonto _ ,” She clicks her tongue, and Dr Bermudez tilts his head back with a silent  _ aah _ .

“ _ Tu novia? _ Macarena is pregnant?” 

Zulema can feel her brain take a double-take at the word, “ _ Novia? _ ” She scoffs, and then begrudgingly realises that the description wouldn’t be far off these days. 

Fucking and starting a family  _ did  _ sound a lot like something girlfriends would do, but her brain rejects the word anyway, “She is  _ not  _ my girlfriend.”

He stares unimpressed at her for a second, “You know, the amount of things I’ve heard you say doped up on pain-meds makes me beg to differ,” and Zulema opens her mouth to protest, but the doctor holds up his hands, “In any case… I do, actually, deliver babies.”

Zulema drops his previous comment and instead files the information into her mind. Macarena used to have access to a doctor before Zulema showed up again. One who, at first, didn’t recognise who she was. But then during another check-up, Macarena felt that the nurse had been looking at her a bit  _ too  _ intensely, and the blonde just knew she had to leave. 

She had managed to get away just as cops arrived at the hospital, but the call was way too close for her liking. She hadn’t gone to another checkup after that, especially not now, knowing that Ramala was turning every stone to find them. 

Ramala was close, Zulema knew he was, and Macarena’s nearing pregnancy didn’t help the situation at all.

But knowing someone they could come to when it was necessary, is comforting.

“ _ Sí _ , she’s pregnant,” She says eventually, and his gaze softens.

“And I presume congratulations are in order?” He gently asks, and she nods.

He smiles fully this time, “Congratulations.” 

And Zulema fights off a smile of her own.

-

“ _ Today I was diagnosed with some bullshit in my brain. The fact that I will slowly lose myself, my brain- the most  _ cherished  _ part of my body- is a fact I despise, so I’m gonna write down whatever I want to remember here. If you’re Rubia reading this don’t you fucking dare read more _ .” And then, in smaller writing a bit underneath, “ _ I know you won’t listen to what I just wrote so I guess if you really  _ are  _ reading this then… Pretend like you haven’t _ .”

_ ‘For my sake’  _ says very faintly after it, an attempt at erasing it, Macarena assumes. 

Macarena smiles at how well Zulema knows her, but then also feels guilty at reading it anyway. She feels compelled to put it down but knows she won’t. Hesitantly, she starts flipping the pages and skimming the content, most of which was photos taken of her in secret. Macarena suddenly finds her eyes welling up as she reads line after carefully crafted line, showcasing just how much Zulema cares. 

There was one page without a photo, and the scrawl was harder and messier than the other pages.   
“Rubia wants to get away, wants to end this.” And then multiple attempts at trying to start another sentence, the paper wrinkly from getting erased over and over, “I don’t know why I feel so…” And then, more messy, half-erased text, “Disappointed, I guess. I knew it was going to end one day, as she so kindly reminds me every time she gets the chance, and yet-” What follows looks like a whole page of erased text. Then, at the bottom, it says, “Whatever. It’s her choice.”

Macarena feels a clump of guilt settle inside of her because she hadn’t meant to hurt Zulema, then anger flared up because she would have never felt the need to get away if she just knew that Zulema cared. Then finally acceptance washes over her since she found that these old flames had no reason to burn again. 

Things had taken a turn since this was written, and even if they hadn’t said much out loud, their silent communication was that of understanding. She won’t leave, nor betray, Zulema ever again, and Zulema has made it clear that she won’t either.

She hadn’t noticed that tears had started to streak down her cheeks as she flipped page after page of memories until she hears a thud from the front door and instantly feels her senses come back.

Macarena doesn’t have time to compose herself, much less put the book back to its original space when Zulema sees her, so she just sits in startled silence. 

Zulema notices the tears down her cheeks, and her eyebrows furrow, but then sees the book in her lap.

A flurry of mixed emotions shoot through her, her heart beats faster and part of her wants to rip the book from the blondes grasp and throw it into a fire.

Her desire to wrap her fingers around Macarena’s throat goes against her silent promise to never hurt the younger woman again, making her stay still in an inner war against herself.

Macarena sees the barely-masked emotions run over Zulema’s face, and from her silence fears the worst. 

Closing the book quickly and putting it on the table, she gets up on her feet and messily wipes her face, “I’m so sorry, Zulema, I- You know how I am, I…” She finds herself trailing off and fiddles nervously with her hands.

If it weren’t so personal, she wouldn’t have felt as intimidated by Zulema as she felt, but now she had truly no idea what the older woman would do.

Zulema takes two swift steps and puts her hands around Macarena’s throat. She gives in to instinct, the feeling at first comfortable, quickly turns sour. Macarena gasps and her hands grip Zulema’s arms, but the look in Zulema’s eyes are different from what she expected.

“Don’t look through my stuff,  _ Rubia _ ,” Zulema grits out, but Macarena can feel the older woman fight against herself, the grip on her throat alternating from squeezing to merely resting there, and her eyes practically bleeding with vulnerability.

As if just noticing what she’s doing, she lets go as if burned and growls. 

Instinct and want fights against each other inside of her like rabid dogs. Her instinct is to attack, sink her teeth deep in flesh, but she doesn’t  _ want  _ to hurt Macarena, not anymore.

“ _ Joder _ ,” Zulema's eyes flick over Macarena’s skin where her hands had previously been, and for the first time in a long time, she feels regret.

Her body betrays her and her hands reach out again, her heart aches when Macarena flinches lightly, and runs her fingers softly over Macarena’s throat.

“ _ Lo siento _ ,” The words bubble up her throat and through her mouth without her permission, and her eyes flick to Macarena’s face.

Had it been any other circumstances,  _ happier  _ circumstances, Zulema would have laughed. Macarena looks like she has seen a ghost, or some other  _ completely  _ unbelievable supernatural thing no one would believe she actually experienced, had she tried to tell someone.

She has to force herself to not voice the  _ ‘qué _ ?’ that resounds in her mind, not quite sure if she heard right, out of fear that Zulema will assume she’s mocking her.

Softening her features, she leans in ever so slightly into Zulema's fingers.

_ Apology accepted. _

“I shouldn’t have read it,” She whispers back, a silent  _ I’m sorry too. _

Zulema’s hand glides up her throat to cup her cheek and absent-mindedly strokes a stray tear away, and Macarena sees her mouth twitch that way it always does when she’s trying to figure something out.

Thankfully, Macarena doesn’t have to figure out what that  _ ‘something’ _ is, “Why were you crying?” Zulema mumbles.

Why  _ was  _ she crying? There was something so unexpected and tender about imagining Zulema writing down what she’d miss, and almost all of the things she’d listed were subtly about the blonde. The image lodged itself deep in her heart, especially when she thinks about the fact that had Zulema not been so stubborn, just a little bit weaker, she wouldn’t have been here and Macarena would have never found out all the little things Zulema had noticed, and written down about her.

“ _ Tú _ …” She trails off, not being able to find the right words, then realising that  _ ‘you’  _ wasn’t so far off.

“ _ Tú _ .  _ Estaba llorando por ti _ . For the life you almost lost, for the future we almost lost, for the memories we made,” Macarena grins lightly and bites her lip, “and for your  _ awful  _ communication skills.”

Zulema huffs, “ _ Calla _ ,” she says with no bite in her words and is about to remove her hand from Macarena’s cheek when Macarena puts her own hand over Zulema’s. 

Still with a slight smile on her face, she looks up into Zulema’s eyes. Something about Macarena’s smile makes Zulema’s insides flutter lightly, and the younger woman's puffy red eyes seem to ache to be soothed with butterfly kisses. It wasn’t the first time Zulema had felt something like that, but this was the first time she let herself feel it. Mentally giving the feeling a respectful nod as it passes, instead of desperately squashing it. 

Something snaps and neither is sure who moves first, but suddenly lips are upon lips, and it feels like a breath of fresh air after drowning. 

Zulema softly grips Macarena’s hips, and Macarena brings her hands up and buries them into dark tresses the way she’s wanted to do since she first saw her again. Macarena tastes like honey and tea, and something uniquely hers, and Zulema melts. She wants to be hard and rough, but Macarena’s lips, and hair, and skin, are all  _ so soft, _ and Zulema wants to forever drown in them.

Macarena is just about to pull Zulema back into the bedroom, when Zulema, ever vigilant, hears an unmistakable click coming from the doorway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Way to end the chapter, my bad. Also why the hell is this the most difficult chapter I've yet to ever write, ugh. Anyways, heads up this is (kind of) the last happy soft chapter I'll write because next time, tensions will rise. Please write what you thought about this chapter down below, I consume all comments like drugs, so don't feel shy. 😉

**Author's Note:**

> Hey hey, hope you liked this chapter. I know it kind of ended on a cliffhanger but I promise I'll update real soon. If you have any feedback, feel free to tell me so in the comments!


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